"Oh, go--go quickly," cried May excitedly. "It is my husband come back;
what shall I do?"
"Stop!" cried Sir Harry. "Listen!"
"No, no; they are knocking again. My father will hear."
"But--"
"No, no, you must not stay. Go," she panted, and as she spoke, in her
hurry and alarm, she pushed him towards the window.
"Confound it all!" he muttered, as he opened it softly. "Pray, pray be
quick," she cried. "Oh, do--do go."
"Impossible!" he whispered back. "They would see. Hide me."
"I can't--I can't."
"You must. Somewhere here."
"No, no! You must go. Oh, what shall I do? I am lost--undone."
"Hush, little woman! Be calm," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I don't
know much about this house. Here, I will go downstairs."
"But you cannot; the footman will see you."
"Then, curse it all, hide me upstairs," cried Sir Harry impatiently.
"My father--my sister--what shall I do!--Oh!"
That was all the visitor heard, and the faint cry that ended the
sentence was drowned in a second tremendous peal at knocker and bell.
"Confound her! she's gone. May! hist!--May!--Don't leave me like this!"
He felt about for the door, but could not find it in his dread and
confusion. Only one part of the room could he make out, and that was
the window, by which flight was impossible without being seen.
"Little wretch!" he muttered. "What a fool I am! Where is the cursed
door? There were three here somewhere. What the devil am I to do?
Curse--"
He kicked against a chair, and nearly knocked it over, and then stumbled
against a couch.
"The door must be here somewhere," he muttered. "Yes, there."
It was plain enough where the door was now, for a light shone beneath
it, and the sides looked light, showing its shape, just as another peal
came from knocker and bell.
He had just time to drop down behind the sofa when the door opened, and
the Master of the Ceremonies appeared in his long dressing-gown, candle
in hand, crossed the drawing-room, and, opening the farther door, went
through, and it swung to, leaving the intruder once more in darkness.
He started up again as he heard the rattle of locks and bolts below, and
made for the window, meaning to escape by it as soon as those who had
alarmed the house had entered.
"Curse him! Mellersh left to watch," he muttered, as voices were heard
from below--loud and angry voices--mingled with those of remonstrance.
"I tell you we saw a man climb up and enter by the balcony," came up;
and in his alarm and horror the intruder knocked over an ornament now,
as he made for the door that led to the bedrooms--his last chance of
escaping unseen.
"Ah, there she is," he said beneath his breath, as the door was made
visible once more by the rays of light all round.
"Come up, then, and I will search the place," came from below.
"Don't be alarmed: I'm going to see," said a voice outside the door
leading to the upper staircase; and the next moment the door opened, and
Claire, in her white dressing-gown, entered candle in hand.
"Sir Harry Payne!" she cried, as the light fell on the figure of the
visitor.
"Hush! For heaven's sake, quick! Hide me somewhere. Quick! Before it
is too late."
He had caught her by the arm and laid one hand upon her lips; and as she
was trying to release herself, the other door opened, and Denville
entered, closely followed by Frank Burnett and Richard Linnell.
"Claire! Sir Harry Payne!" cried the Master of the Ceremonies.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Burnett, with a grin. "No murder this
time, except reputation. I had made up my mind to come and stop
to-night, as my wife's here; but, after this, the sooner she's out of
this place the better. Here, call her, some of you. Where's her room?"
Claire did not speak, but stood there, as if turned to stone, her eyes
fixed upon the cold, stern face of Richard Linnell, as he stood back by
the door.
"Sir Harry Payne, speak, I insist," cried Denville fiercely. "What does
this mean?"
"Hush, sir! Hush! pray, gentlemen. A little bit of gallantry, nothing
more."
"Sir!" cried Denville.
"Hush, sir, pray!" cried Sir Harry, who was white and trembling with
dread. "No noise--the neighbours--the scandal. Perfectly innocent, I
assure you. An assignation. I came to see Miss Denville here."
Claire turned her eyes slowly from Richard Linnell, whose look seemed to
wither her, and fixed them on the despicable scoundrel, who was
screening her sister before her husband, but who would not meet her
stern gaze.
"I thought as much," said Burnett, with a sneer. "I tell you what--"
"Silence!" hissed a voice in his ear, and a broad, strong hand came down
on his shoulder with a grip like a vice.
Claire saw it--the brave, true effort to defend her in her disgrace, and
she lifted her eyes once more to Linnell's. Then she let them close,
and stood there silent, with the sweet little girlish innocent-looking
face of her sister before her, as she stayed listening to the
condemnation of husband and father--little May, her father's darling--in
her place. One word would save her, would clear her in the sight of the
man who loved her, and of the father who stood sternly there; but she
must condemn May to save herself, and she stood there as if convicted of
the shameful act.
For she spoke no word, and her sister's fame was saved.
Volume Two, Chapter XVII.